


Before the Hulk

by DrRJSB



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Aunt Susan Banner, Aunt Susan is a good mom, Aunt-Nephew Relationship, Brian Banner is the worst parent ever, Bruce Banner Appreciation Week 2018, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Week, Bruce Feels, Bruce Week, Bruce's Aunt Susan, F/M, Fixing the Comics, Gen, Graether's Ice Cream, Ice Cream is the best therapy, Kid Bruce Banner, Kid Hulk (Marvel), Little!Bruce, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Never trust General Ross, Piano, Pre-Hulk, Protective Bruce Banner, Rebecca Banner's Death Mentioned, Star Wars References, Strong Female Characters, The Hero's Journey, little bruce, momma bear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrRJSB/pseuds/DrRJSB
Summary: Bruce has a number of strong women in his life. His Aunt Susan Banner helped pick up the pieces after his mother Rebecca's death at the hands of his father. This is a collection of a few important moments in young Bruce's life from Susan's point of view.





	1. Summer 1978

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Autumn_Froste for the Beta-Reading help! This was originally written for Day One ( September 24th) of Bruce Banner Appreciation Week 2018 on Tumblr. Prompt: Cooking.
> 
> This fits in as a prequel or flashback for Special Needs: A Bruce and Natasha FanFic, which you can find here on AO3.

Susan Banner, PhD, the tenured Division Head of Music and Arts for Central High School, had been practicing making Cream of Wheat all week. She wasn’t a breakfast person herself—coffee and a piece of toast buttered and scarfed down just before she rushed out the door at 6:30am was all she normally had before hurrying off to her administrative job. She preferred teaching to paper pushing, but after five years in the position, she’d earned a reputation for both efficiency and competence that even the coaching staff had to respect.

Yet, mastering the art of cooking something as basic as farina seemed to be eluding her today. It ought to be simple: Heat salted water to boiling, add gritty white stuff, stir as it cooks for 2.5 minutes, remove from heat and let stand for another 2 minutes, plop in a bowl, add butter, sugar, and milk—ENJOY! No matter how much she stirred or when and what temperature she introduced the cereal to the water in the sauce pan, so far the results were always lumpy, thick as glue, and tasted half raw, even with a lot of butter, sugar, milk, and more salt.

The reason she was trying to cook this concoction one more time was still asleep in bed upstairs in her former office and looking completely angelic when she checked in on him 15 minutes ago. Susan wanted to get this right because nothing else seemed to have gone her nephew’s way, and she desperately wanted to give him a sense of . . . of what? She couldn’t replace what he had lost and that was his whole freaking world.

She crushed the biggest lumps against the side of the pan with the back of the wooden spoon and pulled it all off the heat. “Instant, my ass,” she said under her breath. _Maybe it would help if you sang to it, Suzy_ , mocked a voice in the back of her head. Susan ignored it and got down two bowls from the cabinets. _Face it, Lovey, even if he starts off his day with the perfect breakfast, the boy is broken and no amount of cereal is going to fix him._ “I know that,” she answered herself. “It’s going to take time and energy and patience.” _Things you have in short supply_ , her alter ego noted with a hoot! “Just lay off,” Susan warned in her teacher voice, and her head was quiet again.

She peeked under the lid and, satisfied that there was cereal now and not undercooked sand, she stirred the thickened mass before she poured it into the two bowls and placed them on the kitchen table. The butter and two kinds of sugar were already in their places. She debated about grabbing the raisins from the pantry, but let it go for the moment, not sure what the boy thought about dried fruit. She took off her apron and turned to go upstairs and check on him, but when she looked up, the eight-year-old was standing in the doorway, taking in the room with his big dark eyes and a sober expression. He had that strange greenish ragdoll with him that someone on his mother’s side of the family must have made. The child looked a little disoriented despite having his daytime clothes on already.

“Good morning, Bruce,” she said with a smile. “You’re up early.”

He focused on her for a moment before giving her a shy smile back. “Good morning, Aunt Susan.”

“Your Grandmother Walcott said you like Cream of Wheat, so I thought I’d try making it for us.” The child climbed into the chair and kept the ragdoll in his lap. “What’s your friend’s name, Bruce?”

“This is Guardian. He usually stays in my room, but he wanted to see the rest of the house, so we got up early.”

“Hello, Guardian. Would you like some cereal, too?”

Bruce finally smiled. “He doesn’t eat, Aunt Susan.” 

“Well, then, more for us!”

“Right, more for us,” he echoed back.

“Do you like milk and butter and sugar on yours?” she asked.

“I like brown sugar and butter on it. If it’s hot, Grandma put cream on it, but milk will work.”

She had cream, so she retrieved it instead of the milk and poured some for both of them before putting the carton back. “Your Grandma made it for you?” She sat down and passed him the brown sugar and used a butter knife to slice them both off generous pats.

“Yah, Mom used to make it, too.” He pushed the butter down so it was submerged in cream and hot cereal before he spooned the brown sugar on top, observing as it melted into the liquids.

She watched him attentively since this was the first time he’d brought up his mother. When he didn’t say more, she asked, “Did you help either of them?”

“I helped Grandma. She used a colander to sift in the Cream o’ Wheat, and I got to help hold it. It was kind of an experiment.”

“Why did she use the colander?” Susan was really curious to know the answer.

“So there wouldn’t be lumps. When I would watch Mom, sometimes she would get kind of mad about the lumps. Grandma said you had to be patient and sift in the grains while you stirred very constantly.”

“I guess that’s the secret! I practiced and I still couldn’t get rid of them,” she said with an audible sigh.

“That’s okay, Aunt Susan. I kind of like it better with lumps.”

She laughed with relief, “Good, because there are a bunch of them.”

“You owe me kisses then. That’s what Mom used to say, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Sorry,” Susan said with a dramatic shake of her head, “you are not getting away without kisses then.” She half stood up and leaned over the table to plant a kiss on the top of his head. The boy smiled shyly before getting back to stirring his cereal. She sat back down, and they ate in comfortable silence for a bit.

When they’d finished, Bruce took both their bowls to the sink where she washed them. “Do you have a dishtowel so I can dry them?”

“Sure,” she said, and pointed to a drawer. “I guess you were kind of a team with your Mom, hmm?”

“Yes.” He handed her the bowls one at a time to put back up and tackled drying the saucepan. “Cousin Rich says this is a lot like in baseball when players get traded to other teams.”

“How so?” Susan asked with a puzzled look. Rich was one of Bruce’s Walcott cousins on his mother’s side and at least four or five years older than Bruce. Susan was Bruce’s God Mother as well as his aunt, so she’d out maneuvered Richard’s parents for custody by showing she had the better resources. Both sides had come close to hiring lawyers and going to court before the Walcotts had backed off and let Susan have uncontested guardianship of their nephew.

“Rich said they wanted me to come play for their team, but you had more room on your team and needed me more. Is that true?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes, I wanted you on my team Bruce.” She thought about trying to explain the complexities of the situation, that she could be his guardian and Bruce would be able to use benefits that came through his father’s employment. Whereas the Walcotts wanted to adopt him, but with two other children they didn’t have the financial resources she did. It wasn’t the kindest analogy, but her nephew was gifted, and she couldn’t bear to see him growing up like a swan among ducklings without the educational opportunities she could provide and the connections she had. “We’re all family, Bruce, and I think we’re going to make an excellent team.” She put up the pan, and Bruce guessed the correct drawer for the silverware.

“Good, I do, too.”

“Does Guardian want to go on a tour of the house with us?” she asked looking over at the doll propped up in his seat and staring at her with its black button eyes.

“Yes, he does.” Bruce picked Guardian up and hugged him to his chest.

“All right, I’m going to start with my favorite room. Do you both like music?”

“Oh, yes! You teach music, don’t you?”

“Right. Not as much as I’d like to teach though, but that might be changing soon.” That was what she hated about administrating—it took her out of the classroom. “Would you like to learn piano?” His mother had played and both his parents sang, so there was no way Bruce didn’t have some natural abilities.

“Yes! We both would,” he said beaming up at her.

How could that enthusiasm not put a smile on her face? “Well, follow me, gentlemen, and I’ll show you the music room and introduce you to the Baldwin. I think all of us are going to get along famously.”

 


	2. Midwinter 1979

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has settled into living with his Aunt Susan, but not everything is going smoothly, despite their best efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful Beta Lady, Autumn_Froste! This was written for Bruce Banner Appreciation Week 2018 on Tumblr and was in response to the Day Two Prompt: Confession. #BruceWeek

“I believe your nephew is suffering from a severe form of schizophrenia, Miss Banner. I recommend committing him to the Rooks Glen Mental Hospital as soon as possible,” proclaimed the paunchy balding man sitting behind his massive mahogany-veneered desk as he attempted to stuff cheap tobacco into a pipe.

“It’s _Dr_. Banner, and I will be doing no such thing,” responded the tall brunette sitting in the faux leather chair across from him. Susan Banner had a bad feeling about the place as soon as they’d checked in at the reception desk, and her instincts had been right on the money. Dr. Donaldo Fennhoff was the latest in the parade of so-called mental health “professionals” she’d taken her nephew Bruce to see over the past nine months since her sister-in-law’s death the previous April, and Susan’s patience with these people had about run out. “You’ve only just met with Bruce for a half an hour. There’s no way you could understand his condition thoroughly enough to have a diagnosis much less make such a radical recommendation. He’s only nine years old and the last thing he needs is isolation from the people who love him.”

The psychiatrist pointed the stem of his pipe at the music teacher, spilling half of his Criss Cross brand tobacco on top of the stacks of papers on his desk. “Listen here, Miss Banner, you as much as admitted to me that he is depressed and practically catatonic and repressing his emotions. He was unresponsive when I tried to question him about his mother and father. Classic Oedipal Complex, by the way, and he wouldn’t respond to me at all except to glower. Trust me, he’s headed for a psychotic break and there is next to nothing anyone can do about it, especially some overeducated schoolmarm like you, unless of course he receives treatment in a facility with professionals such as myself in charge.”

For one shocked moment, the dark-haired woman could only blink at his bullying audacity. _What a peach this one is!_ the voice in the back of her head, laughed. She stood up with dignified slowness, squared her shoulders, straightened her suit jacket, and gave the doctor a scathing look. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Fennhoff.” Susan Banner resolutely walked out of his office and retraced her steps down the hall to the waiting room where her young nephew sat reading a thick astronomy text from the library. “Let’s go, Bruce. We have a lot of much more important things to do today.” They quickly put on their coats and gathered up their things.

“Mark my words, woman! One day you’ll find out what a mistake you’re making by unleashing him on the community!” Fennhoff screeched after them, angry he was going to lose his tidy little kickback from his colleague at Rooks Glen for another admittance.

Bruce thought it was rather alarming to see his normally imperturbable Aunt Susan this angry, but he suspected the bald doctor had it coming. He tucked his book under his right arm and grabbed her right hand with his left as she stormed out.

Her chunky boot heels clicked out an angry staccato as they crossed the snowy parking lot to her blue Chevy sedan. Bruce jumped into his place in the backseat as soon as she unlocked the door. They were quickly out of the lot and headed down the street. “We’re not going back to this one, are we, Aunt Susan?”

She shook her head. “Certainly not, Bruce. For a psychiatrist, that man was just . . . well, crazy!”

Bruce giggled at her joke. “Good. I didn’t like him. His breath stunk really bad and his plants were all dead,” the boy noted.

Susan grinned and rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry for putting you through that, Bruce.”

“It’s okay. I liked Dr. Neely at Children’s Hospital better. She was nice and she smelled good.”

“I liked her, too. No dead plants either. Tell you what, we’ll get on her waiting list and hope something will open up soon. In the meantime, I know it’s cold, but let’s go have some ice cream since we’re here in Clifton and close to the Graeter’s. That way you can talk to me instead of Dr. Stinky.”

“Thank you, Aunt Susan,” Bruce said, grinning and sitting tall, so she could see him in the rearview mirror. He was ready for this circus to be over, too, so they’d leave him alone.

“I love you, Brucey,” she told him as they stopped at a traffic light, and she reached over the seat with her right arm to grab his knees and he laughed. Her nephew was a genius, but he was also a little boy who was dealing with the worst betrayal possible at the hands of his own father . . . her older brother. She wasn’t his mother, she reminded herself, and she’d never replace Rebecca in her son’s heart—she didn’t want to do that. Still, they were family, and the two of them were going to get through this together, no matter what.

Susan had a good teaching job with tenure as one of the music faculty at the local high school, hence, the PhD and good insurance. She’d stepped away from her job as Division Head last fall to spend more time with Bruce and get back to teaching and playing piano more herself. She’d almost forgotten how much she missed it, but having Bruce in her life had helped her reevaluate and recognize where her priorities should be. Susan vowed her nephew would know he was loved, and she would make certain he was educated at the best of schools.

She parked the car, and the nine-year-old bounded out of the backseat with his library book under his arm. They both ordered black raspberry chip ice cream in sugar cones at the counter and sat down at one of the old-fashioned wooden and metal-framed tables. Bruce had gotten his cone with sprinkles because Guardian liked them. “I hope we get lucky with Dr. Neely soon, or we’re both going to get fat,” she joked.

“I won’t mind either way,” Bruce said between licks. He was on the small and thin side, much like his mother, but he shared the same prominent dark brown eyes as his aunt. People who didn’t know them usually mistook the two for mother and son. That didn’t seem to offend Bruce, but she still corrected and added that she’d be proud to be his mother. “What’s shiktxophrenia?” the boy asked.

“You mean schizophrenia. So, you could hear what Dr. Fennhoff was saying to me, hmm?” This little pitcher certainly had big ears as the saying goes. It didn’t hurt that he was sharper than anyone she’d ever encountered, her older brother included.

“Yah, I picked up these pamphlets from his waiting room, too.” Bruce opened up his book and out fell several mental health fliers. “These were informative, but I don’t get what this one says about having scattered thoughts and voices in your head being a symptom. I hear voices in my imagination all the time. Well, I hear my voice and Guardian’s sometimes. He can be kind of talkative when he wants.”

That got Susan’s attention, but she did her best to hide her surprise. “How do you mean? Is it like when you’re quiet and you just think of something in words?”

“Yah, mostly, but sometimes Guardian will tell me things he’s noticed or thought about. If I’m really lonely or sad, he’s there to make me feel better.”

“Do you know what an imaginary friend is, Bruce.”

“I do, but those are different. Kids make those up. Guardian isn’t made up. He’s always been in my head.”

“Really, since you were how old? Do you have any idea?”

Bruce paused to think. He was down to the last few inches of cone, so he bit the end and sucked the last of the ice cream out, letting the pieces of dark chocolate warm up and melt on his tongue before he finished the cone. “It was before I could talk very much. I remember Nurse would leave me in my crib by myself a lot, so I would think of mom singing to me. Then I could hear someone else helping me remember the tune and the words.”

“Can you see him, too?”

“I have my doll. Sometimes I dream they’re the same Guardian, but he never moves or talks unless I’m dreaming.” Bruce straightened out the paper in which the cone was wrapped. “Sometimes I dream that he looks like me, but he’s braver and stronger.

“What does he talk to you about?”

“How boring school is and whatever we’ve read or learned. He lives in my imagination, so he builds places there.”

“Like where? What places?”

“The 100-Acre Wood, Sodor, Hobbiton, Rivendell, Narnia, Skull Island, big gardens, castles, the Lonely Mountain—places like that.”

“It sounds like he keeps busy.”

“Yah, but he’s kind of lazy because he’s not interested in everything I do, so he naps until things get less boring or I need him.”

“Could I talk to him?”

“No, he likes to stay in the background, so I don’t get in trouble. He said people might say I was dangerous, and they’d be scared.” A look of sudden realization swept across his young face. “Are we, I mean, am I in trouble, Aunt Susan? I don’t want to worry you.”

“No, Bruce, you’re not in trouble,” she reassured him and reached over to ruffle the brown curls on top of his head. “I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t think that there is a problem having Guardian in your head as long as he isn’t telling you to do anything bad or dangerous or to hurt yourself or other people.”

“He doesn’t do that. He helps me feel better. That’s why he’s called ‘Guardian.’” Her nephew looked at her shrewdly, “He said not to trust Dr. Fennhoff.”

 _Well, he wasn’t wrong_ , the voice in her head pointed out. “That’s fine, but you do need to communicate with people in the real world. You need to have friends.”

“I know I should make friends, but it’s really hard. The kids are all older than I am, and most of them aren’t interested in the same things as I am.” He played with the paper cone wrapper and folded it into a crude frog that was almost origami. I wish I could go to the same school as Jennifer.”

“I know, but you would be two grades ahead of her, and I can’t drive that long of a commute, Bruce.” She thought for a moment about other ways to make friends. “You’re way too young for the AV Club at the high school, but you like to hang out with Ralph and the guys at the Radio Shack.”

“Yah, they’re nice there. It’s not a real club, but they seem to like me. I showed them how to improve circuit efficiency by 10% on the computer they’re building, and Ralph helped show me how to do the soldering.”

She sighed but couldn’t keep back a smile. _They also like that you pay for practically anything the kid wants_ , her alter ego quipped. “Let me talk to Ralph, and we’ll see if he has any ideas, okay?” As much as she hated to do it, she was going to give one of her brother’s old colleagues a call. He’d given her a card at the funeral. Colonel Roth or was it Ross? He was on the board at the Science Academy, and he said he wanted to talk to her about recruiting Bruce when he had reached 12 years old. Bruce was nine now, but he had skipped two grades and was already bored. Maybe they’d make an exception, especially if the officer would be willing to pull some strings and let Bruce in early?

She looked down at Bruce’s paper frog, which now had a tongue made out of a straw that unrolled to reveal a paper fly. “Look, Aunt Susan, I’m blowing on the frog’s butt so it can catch the fly!”

The sound of him giggling happily over a frog-butt joke was lovelier than any music she could have played. “Oh, Brucey, what am I going to do with you?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this one. I've had several head canons about Bruce's family life before and after his mother Rebecca's death. I've gone through some of them over in Special Needs: A Bruce and Natasha FanFic, but I wanted a little room to focus on his second mom, his Aunt Susan, whom I've only been able to mention in passing in that larger story. There is disagreement in the comics about whether she's Rebecca's sister (Susan Drake) or Brian's sister. I've gone ahead and used the expanded family tree from Special Needs to give female characters full names and straighten out some issues and fill in gaps. Therefore, I wanted her to be Brian's youngest sister who knew him before mental illness had set in, so she could wrestle with the cognitive dissonance she had to be feeling, try to work through it, and help Bruce understand and avoid the same issues. You may have noticed that she shares a milder version of the Vanishing Twin issues that Brian and Bruce have that can lead to schizophrenia-like voices. Brian couldn't deal with it and went over the edge into paranoia. Susan has mostly integrated her "twin" into her own mental landscape while Bruce and Guardian (later Adam in SN) have remained distinctly separate beings and gotten along until "the accident." Comments and kudos are always welcome! Up next, we are going several shades darker and piling on the feels.


	3. Spring 1979

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is having issues at school, and Aunt Susan can’t get him to talk about it until she finds some sheet music that belonged to his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Beta Lady, AutumnFroste! Feels warning! Go play "Baby Mine."

 

If there was one thing Susan Banner hated, it was going through the boxes that had arrived about six months after her sister-in-law Rebecca Banner’s death. As far as the military was concerned, the case had been closed when her brother had been admitted to a mental hospital hundreds of miles away, unfit to stand trial, so there was no reason for the police nor the military to hold the broken pieces of the family’s lives that did not pertain directly to the case any longer. When the officer arrived with two MPs and a half-loaded van, Bruce had been at school, so she’d locked the boxes away safely in a basement storage room, reasoning that Bruce didn’t need to run across them while he was getting settled into a routine. The military had packed the boxes up room by room, but sometimes there would be an odd item packed up randomly because someone hadn’t known what to do with a stray book or a coffee mug.

She was tackling a box one night a week and separating out the obvious junk from things Bruce might later like to have. Unfortunately, a lot of his mother’s possessions had been damaged or destroyed when Brian Banner had barricaded himself in the house for a few hours before the police were able to talk him out. He’d made good use of his last hours of freedom ripping up her clothes, breaking all the mirrors, throwing a sewing machine down the staircase, ruining a piano with a set of golf clubs, and upending every drawer and shelf in the kitchen. That sarcastic voice in the back of Susan’s head hoped it had been cathartic for her brother, but Susan sincerely doubted that was so. She as still having trouble reconciling the protective big brother she knew from childhood with the narcissistic monster he became, following down their own father’s violent path.

As a result, here she was late on a Friday evening wearily tackling an unlabeled box from Dayton after Bruce was settled upstairs in bed, ragdoll tucked in with him while the model solar system he’d designed glowed dimly as planets on a clockwork device circled the ceiling. It had been a rough day at school for him, and he’d had a scrape on his cheek when she’d picked him up at the elementary. Her instinct was to march him right back in and talk to the teacher, but he’d begged her not to do it. Against her better judgment, she’d backed off, and they drove home in tense silence.

Bruce’s aunt reasoned she could always talk to the woman later, teacher to teacher. Susan taught music at the local high school since she’d stepped down as Division Head to have more time with Bruce. She’d started college on scholarship as a piano performance major with big dreams and plenty of ambition, but reality hit once her cantankerous father was left an invalid after a stroke. That meant she’d given up dreams of being a concert pianist and switched over to an education track. Fortunately, she’d been able to get through college on work study, grants, and teaching piano lessons on the side, so she hadn’t needed much help from her older brother Brian who was already making good money working on a government contract in New Mexico. She’d continued her education to earn an MA and now she had her PhD and tenure. Thus, she could support her nephew comfortably without touching the survivor benefits or insurance money Bruce had received or the remunerations from his father’s work. That money she saved, so he would be able to attend the Science Academy in a few years and then, presumably, the best universities. Who knew, he might focus his talents in an entirely different direction? Whatever it might be, she’d be there to support him.

Susan had found her sister-in-law’s sheet music in a satchel at the bottom of the box and immediately knew what a potential treasure this was. She had just started teaching Bruce beginning piano, and he was taking to it well. She spread the books and smaller pieces out across the top of her Baldwin baby grand to see what Rebecca had liked to play. “You had such a pretty voice, Becky. Now, what did you play besides church music and hymns?” Susan murmured to herself. There were a couple of collections of show tunes and a Disney anthology. The rest were advanced classical studies from Rebecca’s student days and a variety of single song sheets that had been popular back ten or more years before: quite the mixed bag, Susan decided. The teacher thumbed through the selections from musicals and noticed some works from _Camelot_ were well marked. For some reason, that didn’t surprise her. She’d look at those later.

The Disney collection immediately fell open to “Baby Mine,” so she placed the book on the music stand and sat down on the bench to try sight reading the chords. She had gotten through the base clef with her left hand and started to put it with the melody when she looked up and saw Bruce standing in the doorway like a little revenant in pajamas with his goofy ragdoll Guardian in tow. Susan smiled and patted the piano bench beside her, and he shyly came in and sat down on her right. He’d been in bed an hour, so she’d accidentally woken him up. Understandably, he looked a little dazed.

“I . . . I dreamed I heard Mom, but I guess it was you playing,” he said sleepily. Susan could hear a bit of disappointment in his voice. Poor kid! _You should have waited_ , scolded the voice in her head.

“Did she play this for you?” His aunt asked as she went over the first line.

“Yes. She sang it to me when I was really little.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed in that weighty way he had, reminding Susan of a much older soul. “She’d play it when things didn’t go well, too.” His aunt really hoped he’d be ready to talk because Bruce had been completely silent and disengaged at dinner and retreated to his room afterward.

“Like today?” Susan asked as she continued quietly to play the song for him.

“Yah.”

“Can you tell me what happened today?” she coaxed.

He swallowed hard before he replied. “Not much. Some older kids were picking on people after school, and Guardian came out.”

“Not your Guardian? Do you mean the janitor or the maintenance man came out of the building?” Susan was a bit confused.

“No,” Bruce hugged his doll closer. “Guardian only comes out when he really has to.”

Okay, this was odd. She knew the principal, the maintenance crew, and the janitor, but that wasn’t one of their names. Susan frowned, knowing the doll had been left at home resting on his bed today like always. What could he mean? “What did Guardian do?”

“He took his hand like this,” Bruce showed her the heel of his left hand, “and he hit the biggest kid in the nose.” He demonstrated a martial arts-like upward strike for her.

Susan stopped playing and placed her full attention on her nephew. “This happened outside the school while you waited on me? Did any teachers see it? What happened to the boy?”

Bruce shook his head. “No teachers were there. We were on the playground. The boy cried and his nose bled a lot, but the big kids all left. I think they were too embarrassed to tell. The other kids cheered though.” The smallest smile flitted across his face. He seemed just a wee bit proud of that.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I picked you up?”

“Guardian took care of it. He . . . he didn’t want you to worry,” Bruce trailed off. Susan wasn’t sure what to think. He looked up at her, and she swore for a moment she was looking into his mother’s green eyes, and then it was gone. “Could you please play the song again, Aunt Susan?”

What a little con! “All right. Can you help me sing?” He nodded and smiled up at her, so she played it and sang with him.

 

Baby mine, don't you cry.  
Baby mine, dry your eyes.  
Rest your head close to my heart,  
Never to part, baby of mine.

Little one, when you play,  
Pay no heed what they say.  
Let your eyes sparkle and shine,  
Never a tear, baby of mine.

If they knew all about you,  
They'd end up loving you, too.  
All those same people who scold you,  
What they'd give just for the right to hold you.

From your hair down to your toes,  
You're so much, goodness knows.  
And, you're so precious to me,  
Sweet as can be, baby of mine.

 

By the end, he’d snuggled closer to her, and she wrapped her arm around him. “This is your song, hmm?”

“It used to be.”

“It could still be yours.”

“I don’t cry anymore.”

“But it would be okay if you did.”

“No. I don’t let people hurt me anymore, so I don’t cry. If you cry, they win.” She’d learned Bruce could be very stubborn. He’d gather his data and mull things over, but once his mind was set on a course of action, he was quite adamant.

“Like the kids at school?” she guessed.

“No. Well, yes, but I don’t care about them. They never will get me to cry. They’re a waste of time.” He paused for a moment to think. “If I don’t feel something, I can’t be hurt or sad; therefore, I won’t cry.”

“So, you’re saying if you don’t feel anything, you think you won’t be hurt?”

“Right. I don’t want to feel or be hurt, at least not at school. Maybe most of the time when I’m not at home.”

“Do you feel something for me?” she asked, a little afraid of the answer.

“Of course, I do, Aunt Susan!” Bruce threw his arms tightly around her torso, and she hugged him close, feeling relieved. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know you love me.” Yet, she suspected she knew what he’d meant. The boy was armored up to not let himself feel for anyone, at least no one new, and she wasn’t sure how to convince him he should do otherwise.

The friends he did have were older and shared his interests in computers and electronics or astronomy or chemistry. The only friend Bruce had who was near his age was his cousin Jennifer who’d had a standing library date with him on Saturdays for the past nine months or so. Would these connections be enough? The boy just didn’t seem interested in expanding his circle at all. She hugged him close. “Do you want to play this piece on your own sometime?”

“Yes,” he said and straightened up, reaching out to touch the keys and slowly beginning to figure out the right-hand melody. “I want to play this for my child someday, but I want the words to be different.”

“Happier?”

“Yes, I want her or him to be happier than me.”

“Bruce, I want you to be happy. I know you’ve been deeply hurt, but one day you will be ready to take a chance again because the rewards are so worthwhile. There are going to be people worth knowing and loving who will come into your life.” She grinned, “How do you expect to have children one day if you don’t find someone to fall in love with?”

He didn’t respond immediately. “I guess you’re right, but if you know this, why aren’t you married?”

What a little stinker! “I was always busy with school or my job, so I never found the right person, but then it didn’t matter because you came into my life. I would rather that bad things didn’t happen to your family, but at least we both get a second chance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plenty of head canons going off! Bruce wants to protect people, but he's not quite able to yet. Susan wants to find a place for him to fit in, but it's tough when he's as damaged as he is. Yes, it's Hulk (Adam) who used a hand palm strike on the bully. Comments and conversations welcome! Up next, duh bomb.


	4. Spring 1980

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have gotten rougher for Bruce at school, so he takes matters into his own hands when he’s bullied by his much older classmates. He finds allies who encourage him, but Susan helps him learn a valuable lesson about adults and their agendas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is larger because it wraps up my Bruce Week contribution. Thanks to AutumnFroste for the help between real life events. Any mistakes are mine. I have always hated the story from the comics about Bruce building a bomb at his high school. It's always seemed like an out of character concept, so I fixed it! Proceed with the 1980s flashback.

Dr. Susan Banner walked briskly across Central High School’s campus, heading toward the Administrative Building. The robins were out, the bright yellow forsythia bushes were a riot of blooms, but she didn’t have time to enjoy those or the varieties of narcissus, hyacinths, and tulips in the flowerbeds. It was early in the day and normally she would be teaching a music theory class to advanced students, but she’d had a call in her office between first and second period. Luckily, a colleague was free to cover for her till noon, so she was headed to the 10thGrade Vice-Principal’s office with all due haste for an active woman who’d just turned 35. She fought her inclination to go into full panic mode and sprint the last hundred yards in her high heels and A-line skirt. When she entered the building, Susan saw two uniformed police officers standing outside the office suite’s door with Bruce and two older boys sitting on a bench between the vigilant adults.

She walked straight up to the nearest uniformed officer. “What’s going on, sir?” She gestured to Bruce. “This is my nephew.”

He looked at the other older officer with a mustache who nodded it was okay to talk to her. “A device, possibly a bomb, was found in the boiler room in the basement, mam. It . . .”

“It wasn’t a real bomb,” Bruce piped up from the bench. Everyone looked at the 10-year-old. The older boys initially seemed puzzled, but they frowned as the revelation sunk in, exchanged a panicked look at each other, and then both turned to Bruce with murder in their eyes.

“What do you mean it’s not a bomb, you little shit?! You said it would work,” blurted the rougher looking of the two, a blonde with a shaggy mullet, artfully ripped jeans, and a Def Leppard t-shirt.

“We were going to get out of final exams, dweeb!” said the larger one who had a feathered-back haircut and preppier clothes. He made a lunge across his friend at Bruce, but the nearest officer clamped a hand down on the kid’s shoulder and roughly pushed him to the far end of the bench. At the same time, the blonde pulled back his right arm, ready to take a swing at Bruce.

“Go ahead, I’m _not_ afraid to take a punch,” Bruce growled, balling his hands into fists. “You thought you could bully me into doing what you wanted. Well, the joke’s on you both, Coulter.”

The mulleted boy started to get to his feet, but the officer Susan had spoken to was already between the juveniles. “Sit down, son! You’re in enough trouble as it is.” The kid sat back down and the officer kicked his high-top-covered feet to move him down to the far end of the bench with his fuming cohort. “One more stupid move, and the cuffs go on,” the older officer said as he rattled the metal restraints on his belt for emphasis.

“Where is Vice-Principal Weaver?” Susan asked. She had stepped up to block Bruce from the older boys as well. The teacher was unnerved by what she’d already witnessed, but she wasn’t about to let it show.

“I’m coming,” called an almost cheery male voice from down the hall. She turned to see her administrative colleague wheeling a cart toward them with what looked like a bundle of gas canisters sprouting wires and boxes with dials attached to a metal framework. Another officer, who was taking off thick bomb gear, walked behind him along with one of the newer Assistant Vice-Principals she didn’t know. “It’s just like I explained when I called you Officer Jennings: it’s a total fake.” The officers seemed to relax a fraction, but the tension in the hall only seemed to shift rather than dissipate.

“Someone had better explain what happened,” Susan finally said, looking at the adults first then Bruce who had an oddly triumphant expression on his face as he continued to stare down the older boys. She would deal with him later. “Dr. Weaver?”

The Vice-Principal was in his wool suit and had obviously been perspiring for a while now. Susan thought Dr. Weaver seemed inexplicably jazzed about the whole situation. He pushed his thin hair back with his right hand and grinned at her, “Susan, that’s one smart boy you have. Let’s go in my office. Marty, please take Mr. Coulter and Mr. Bendis to the detention office and see that their parents are notified.” The younger administrator motioned for the two older boys to follow and the senior police officer gestured for his younger colleague to follow them since an investigation was no doubt pending.

“Just wait, Time Bomb, you’ll regret this,” the larger boy threatened, before the officer jingled a pair of handcuffs as a reminder and moved him along.

Once they were down the hall and had disappeared behind a door, Dr. Weaver addressed the older officer. “Well, Tom, I think we have enough to suspend them from school. Do you have enough to bring charges?”

Officer Jennings stroked his greying moustache, “What kind of video evidence did you say you have?”

The administrator turned to Bruce who opened up his backpack and handed over two VHS tapes then pulled a Dictaphone recorder out of his pants pocket and gave the officer the mini audio cassette out of it. He’d made copies of all of them, but Bruce wasn’t about to volunteer that.

“Bruce!” Susan gasped. It seemed pretty obvious that her sweet, 10-year-old, genius of a nephew had become some kind of junior narc or an undercover informer pretty much beneath her radar.

Dr. Weaver took her arm. “Susan, let’s go sit down. There’s someone I want you to meet in here. Bruce, why don’t you head back to class. Good work, kid.” Dr. Weaver fished a hall pass out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Her nephew grabbed up his backpack and hurried away without meeting her eyes. _Oh, we are going to talk all right_. The two remaining officers headed down the hall with the tapes, looking satisfied. “Open the door, will you please, Susan? I don’t want to leave this evidence out in the hall. I’m sure they’re going to want it.” She opened the door, and he wheeled the cart with the “bomb” on it into his outer suite which was an unoccupied waiting area. “Just look at the detail on this, Susan. You should be so proud of Bruce. I can’t believe . . .”

Susan flat-handed her colleague with a slap on the back of his balding head. “What. The. Hell. Harvey!?!?” she said in a low, icy voice. “This is my nephew’s life, not an episode of _Kojak_ or _Mission Impossible_. You just put him in harm’s way. Suspending those two little thugs you’ve caught is not worth the damage you might have done to him.”

“Now, Sue, you have the wrong idea here. Bruce approached me back in December after he heard the two were planning something dangerous. The boys knew about what happened with your brother, and they were trying to use it as leverage over Bruce and then as blackmail. He had a pretty brilliant plan to turn the tables on them, so I helped him and oversaw the operation every step of the way. He wasn’t in any serious danger.”

“You put my nephew in the middle of a conspiracy to entrap those delinquents, Harv!” She was keeping her voice down, but she wanted to shake the older man until his teeth rattled.

“I empowered him to stand up to a couple of bullies who were one move away from blowing up our Science Department. Thank God, they weren’t that smart.”

“You used him like a tool.”

“I let him use that big brain of his to analyze and solve his problems in a creative way.”

“You made him a target at best. At worst, he’s going to think this is a way to solve his socialization issues.” She was so angry, she felt like throttling her colleague. _Calm down! The boy is going to need you_ , the voice in her head reminded her. “Why didn’t you come to me back in December?”

“Leaving you out of it was his only condition,” Harvey explained.

“Harvey, he’s a child. Bruce shouldn’t have been the one dictating conditions. You’re going to be lucky if you and the school don’t get sued.”

“Which is one more reason for keeping you out of it,” he pointed out with a knowing look.

“I’m not some delicate flower to protect,” she sputtered. “If anything, Bruce is the one who needs to be protected.”

“No, he’s not. Bruce is not some fragile basket case. The kid needs challenges and mental stimulation. He is bored to death in a normal classroom. You know deep down that’s true.” She couldn’t disagree. “This operation taught him how to make a plan and carry it out. He developed his social skills and used critical thinking to accomplish our goal.”

She was starting to pace the length of the small waiting room. “You taught him it’s okay to be disingenuous and lie about who he really is.”

Someone inside Harvey’s inner office cleared his throat and the two educators turned to face a tall Army Officer with sandy hair and a moustache that was much more impressive than the police officer’s had been. “He’s Brian Banner’s son, and he’s going to be more brilliant than his father.”

“Colonel . . . excuse me, _General_ Ross,” Susan said in acknowledgment of the new rank showing on his uniform.

“You already know Thunderbolt?” the administrator asked, sounding puzzled.

“Yes, we’ve spoken a few times,” Susan said. The last time was after she’d called him, and he’d come to the house to meet Bruce a few weeks later. Initially, their hopes had been high that Ross might sponsor Bruce, and they would find a way around the age requirements for the Science Academy. Unfortunately, that hadn’t panned out, so then they’d been left waiting and treading water until Bruce turned 12. At that time, they were welcome to present his case again for reconsideration.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Banner,” Ross said as he extended his hand to her, and she shook it firmly. He took a step back and looked appreciatively at Bruce’s false device on the cart, “Harvey, I’m having a serious sense of déjà vu here.” He walked around it, nodding and stroking his chin. “The only thing I see lacking is the payload.”

“And a working ignition switch,” the Vice-Principal added quickly. “Young Bruce explained in great detail the differences between what you see here and the real thing.”

Susan closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she was fairly certain where Bruce might have gotten the idea for the device’s plans, but she still had other questions. “When did he get the time to work on this and how did he get the resources, Harv?”

“Well, I’ve let him use his free period for the last term. The smaller workshop was unscheduled, so the shop teacher Mr. Eldridge helped us, and we worked there and then took it down to the basement to finish the details in the boiler room.” The administrator grinned as he recollected what had obviously been a positive experience for him. “It was kind of fun to do all the hands-on learning,” he admitted. “We made a list of required materials and tools, planned our budget, and recycled some components to cut costs. It came in a good 10% under projected costs.”

Susan tamped down her desire to throttle the man and added the shop teacher to her “shit list.” This was awful in so many ways. “Did it occur to you that this was not a good idea on any level? Harv, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that if I didn’t keep your nephew busy doing something that challenged him, he’d either be getting picked on in a study hall or building something that actually was lethal on his own time without any adult input or supervision. Great saints and great sinners are cut from the same cloth, Sue.” She folded her arms across her chest, but she didn’t argue, so he went on. “I took the liberty of contacting Thunderbolt here because I knew he was on the Advisory Board for the Science Academy.” He turned to General Ross, “I had no idea you knew each other, sir, but I hoped you’d take a look at the project and see what you thought about early entry into the Academy.”

The General chuckled, “We’ve tried it before, but I think, under the circumstances that it’s worth applying again. Dr. Banner, Susan, if I may, would you be willing to have another go at this?”

She walked a few steps forward and back, trying to gather her thoughts. “Look, I want my nephew to have a fair shot at the education he deserves, but this . . . this stunt isn’t the way to do it. You’ve rewarded him for behavior I don’t condone, and it was done behind my back.”

“Think of it as an advanced ‘Independent Study,’” Dr. Weaver said brightly. “That’s what it was on paper.”

She shot the Vice-Principal a withering gaze and turned back to the General. “Sir, I need to think about this and talk to Bruce. You know his past. I don’t want him to cut corners, trying to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. I can’t in good conscience start him down the morally questionable path, especially at this young of an age.”

The General ran his hands over the false bomb’s frame and Susan was shocked to see a look of—what? longing? desire?—on his face. It really struck her as odd. He looked over at her, and for a moment she was certain he was angry, but he quickly smiled at her. “That’s quite understandable, Dr. Banner. You have my home number. Please give me a call if and when you change your mind.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he didn’t waste any further time in leaving as he nodded to the flummoxed administrator and was out the office door. She listened to the sound of his military dress shoes retreating down the hall and prayed she hadn’t just thrown Bruce’s future away.

“Susan! How could you? He’s Bruce’s ticket into the Academy.” Now, Dr. Weaver was the one who was upset.

“Harv, shut up. You have foisted the most difficult choice possible on me by indulging a child’s revenge fantasy. There is no good option here. Did you tell Bruce you were contacting someone about the Science Academy?”

“No, I did not,” he said defensively.

“Well, that’s the smartest thing you’ve done today.” She rubbed at her temples with both hands. She needed some space so she could think. “Would you please find someone to cover my classes? Sandra is subbing for me till noon.”

“I’ll take care of it. Should I call Bruce down to the 6th-Grade Office?”

“You read my mind,” she said with a rueful smile. The Vice-Principal wasn’t a bad person, but she wasn’t going to forgive him for a good while. “Thank you, Harvey. Please don’t mention Bruce’s name if you are tempted to start talking to the press.”

“Of course not.”

“You realize what a mess this is going to be if it all goes in front of a judge, right?”

“That’s why Bruce is getting an AV credit along with the Independent Study.”

“I don’t think wearing a wire counts as AV.”

“You don’t know what we went through to jack up the mic on that Dictaphone.”

“I mean it, Harv. Bruce had to endure questioning by the police after the murder. Thank God there were adult witnesses, so he only had to give a deposition before they declared Brian unfit to stand trial.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know that.”

Susan threw up her hands. “Maybe if you’d talked to me . . .” she let the phrase hang there in the air.

Harvey gave her a contrite look. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’ll go call Bruce down to the office with his things. Look, I’m sorry, Susan. I honestly wanted to do the kid a good turn. He’s so much ahead of the other students here, and he does deserve a spot at the Science Academy. He’s got so much focus and drive to go with that intellect it’s scary, but I thought he needed a bit of a mentor and maybe a friend, too.”

“I know. Thank you for putting that amount of time into working with Bruce. I just wish you hadn’t cut me out of this.” Susan sighed, almost as weighty of a one as Bruce could make before she patted Dr. Weaver on the shoulder. “Now, I have to be the adult in the room and make sure he understands this is not a win-win situation and there are consequences.”

Susan walked back to her office much less briskly on her return trip. By the time she’d gathered her things and walked back to the 6th-Grade Office, Bruce was waiting on her. It was a Friday, so she didn’t feel too guilty about leaving with him early. The voice in the back of her mind suggested holding his hand until they reached the car was a good way to punish him, but she dismissed the idea, and they were silent the entire trip home in the car.

The moment they were inside the door, he ran up to his room, and she didn’t have the heart to stop him. After putting her things away, Susan sat down at the piano and simply started playing. She usually preferred Mozart or Liszt, but for some reason Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto no. 2, op.18 started coming out. It had been years since she played it in concert, but it all came flooding back. She was feeling mad about everything and not sure what to do, so she quit thinking and just played. She made it through the second movement with its familiar melody and the third that built into a crashing crescendo that pushed her to her limits before she finished and sat still, breathing hard from both the physical and mental exertion. She was still good, but she was out of practice and that depressed her more than she wanted to admit. _Tomorrow, you’ll wish you’d picked the Mozart_ , her alter ego tisk-tisked at her. _Those hands are going to hurt_. At the moment, she didn’t care. It was worth it.

She’d put what she had to do off long enough. Susan got up and climbed the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms where she knocked on her nephew’s door. “Bruce are you hungry yet? I’m going to make PB&J sandwiches. Why don’t you come down and practice piano while I make them?”

She could hear him hop off the bed and pad over to the door before he opened it. “Okay. Could you use strawberry jam?”

“Sure, sweetie. Are you okay?”

Bruce opened the door and looked her in the eyes for several moments. “How mad are you?”

“Okay, I’m not happy, and it’s not you I’m upset with.”

“You’re mad at Dr. Weaver then?”

“I’m not happy with Dr. Weaver, but he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing.”

“I think we both were.”

“I’m sure _you_ were. Come down and practice, and we’ll talk after lunch, okay?” Bruce nodded and she stepped closer, bending down to get more on his level, and he hugged her as soon as her arms opened to him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her neck. “I just wanted to protect you.”

“It’s okay,” Susan reassured him. “I’m the one who needs to do the protecting. I just wish you’d come to me and told me what was happening. I’m amazed you kept it secret all these weeks.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I was afraid you’d say no, too.”

“I probably would have, but I didn’t get the chance to listen to you and help decide what to do. You’re still ten, Bruce. Dr. Wallace should have known better.”

“He was trying to be nice, and those two boys were going to do something bad. I don’t care who knows about my dad, but I couldn’t let them hurt other people.”

“So, you dug into your father’s journals that I was saving for you to have when you were older and used one of his weapon designs?”

“I did. I saw the box had my name on it. I only used his notes for the basic stuff. The other half I improved on. I made a new kind of detonation switch. There just wasn’t anything real to detonate.”

Susan ran a hand through the hair on top of his head, which was cut a shorter than it had been when he came to her almost two years ago. “Bruce, this kind of stuff is absolutely above every 10-year-old’s paygrade—you included. Come on down stairs.” He had a stubborn look on his face, but he complied with her request.

She made their sandwiches and listened to Bruce play through his piano exercises. He was progressing well, especially on scales and, now, chord progressions and arpeggios. He seemed to really get into the rhythm and flow in an almost hypnotic way. It was that way with her, too. The boy was right handed, but she’d noted he was just as adept with his left hand. As she listened closely, she realized he was talking to himself.

“I said slow down and do it right. _No, I like to do this fast._ Stop it. _You’re messing me up._ You are such a butt-munch. _You need to relax, killjoy._ ” There was a pause as he switched books. _“I told you not to cut her out. Now you get to deal with the consequences._ It was worth it. _You really hurt her! Do not screw this up with your dumb ego trips_.” There was silence after that as he played through a couple of older pieces he’d mastered and finished up.

Susan finished by quartering his sandwich on the diagonals and waited until she heard Bruce put up the music in the bench before she told him to wash up. He had gone from unhappy to sullen, directing his thoughts inward. Ten was a little too soon for the teenage attitude, but something was going on in his head that was starting to spill over. They’d gone through three counselors and a psychologist so far while waiting on the psychotherapist to have an opening. She contemplated giving the current one a call, but she decided against it. No reason to pull someone else into this if they could work it out. It all depended on whether or not he would talk.

“Celery or carrot sticks or both, Bruce?”

“Both . . . please.”

He always fell back on formality—probably because its patterns were safe and familiar. Susan filled a melamine bowl with cut vegetables that matched the plates and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table then got out the buttermilk ranch dip. She poured them both iced tea and they sat down across from one another. Almost as a reflex, she bowed her head and said a quick formulaic grace, but she was pretty certain Bruce had remained silent and not joined in, even with the “Amen” at the end. Oh boy, this was new. Susan genuinely hoped she was not going to have to deal with an existential crisis on top of everything else today. Still, she couldn’t help but give him a discerning look, which he avoided rather guiltily.

Bruce had a unique way of eating the crust first on his sandwiches that she’d been meaning to ask him about for a while. “Why do you always attack the crusts first? Most people your age go for the middle.

He paused and thought about it. “I guess it’s like I want to save the best part a little longer because I’ll appreciate it more after eating the edges.” Then he shook his head as if to clear it, “And because I like to prove I can control myself, too.”

“Hmm, delayed gratification. That sounds like the Marshmallow Experiment that I read some psychologists are conducting at Stanford.”

“What’s that?” He asked after he’d swallowed his bite of food. “Not Stanford, the experiment, I mean.

“They took preschoolers and sat them down with a marshmallow in front of them. They could eat the marshmallow or earn a second marshmallow if they waited 15 minutes.”

“Sounds pretty easy. I could get the whole bag if I weren’t really, really hungry.”

She laughed, “I’m not sure it worked that way.”

“What were they measuring? Self-control or how hungry the kids were?”

“Hmm, it was self-control, but you do have a good variable there. I’m not sure how they accounted for that.”

“You know, Grandma Walcott had a dog with puppies when I was there. All five of them competed a lot for food and attention. If kids are like that, I don’t think they would wait.”

“So, kids with more resources have better self-control?”

“Maybe, but if some were tested before lunch and some after lunch, I’d expect there to be a difference. They should test each kid both before and after lunch more than once and compare.”

“We’ll have to read their published work to find out how the scientists did the setup then.” She took a drink of tea.

“I think it would matter where they went to school, too. Sometimes people with more money or talent go to certain schools, so kids might test differently in one school or another.” She smiled and shook her head. He really couldn’t seem to help reasoning questions like this through. “I think there is also a really basic question: do all the kids even like marshmallows?”

His aunt chuckled, “So there are circumstances when a bird in the hand is not worth two in the bush?”

He shook his head. “Not if you don’t want the bird. Then it’s not worth anything to you.” He frowned, “Unless you could trade it for something you did want.”

“True. Is it fair to test kids only while they are hungry?” she posed to him.

He thought a moment. “Only if everyone is hungry, but I think it would be better if everyone were full first.”

“By ‘better’ do you mean ‘moral’?”

“Yes, it’s more moral and ethical. If it’s going to be accurate, they’d need to treat all their subjects the same or it’s bad science. I think they’d also use fewer marshmallows, so it’s more economical, too.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” she decided. “Let me ask you this, is it more important that the kids are treated the same or that the experiment does them no harm?”

He didn’t hesitate, “Both, they’re not mutually exclusive. I never want to do harm if I work with people or animals. I don’t think I want to work with human subjects that much anyway, but I’d be careful if I did.” He looked troubled. “Why are you asking me about this? My Science Festival project on saltwater filters is all done except for the posters.”

“No, I’m trying to pick your brain because I have some decisions to make.” The boy looked suddenly panic-stricken. “Don’t worry. You’re fine, Bruce. I want to make certain you understand that taking shortcuts as a means to an end is not the way to do experiments or other projects or to approach life either.” They were both finished eating, so Bruce collected the plates, and Susan put away the leftover carrots and celery and dip. She washed up the plates, and Bruce dried them as usual before she spoke again. “My dilemma is, because of the timing of what you and Dr. Weaver did, if something really important for you happens now, I don’t want you to associate what you did that was questionable with the positive thing since it’s not an outcome of your problematic behavior. I know I’m not making much sense, but I don’t want to withhold the good thing like it was a punishment either.”

Leaning back against the counter as she watched the boy finish putting up the plates, Susan noted Bruce had gotten taller. She could see his mind puzzling through the possibilities. “Does it have anything to do with the black Lincoln Town Car with the uniformed driver and the government plate I saw in the circle drive at school when I went back to class?”

As the description came tumbling out, Susan ruefully raised an eyebrow and nodded. The boy was just too damn sharp. “Yes, did you see General Ross was there?”

“ _General_ Ross?”

“He’s been promoted,” she explained.

“No, I didn’t see him. Why was he there?”

“Dr. Weaver knows him and wanted the General to have a look at your ‘Project’ before, I’m sure, the police would have to cart it off as evidence.”

“Why as evidence?”

“Honey, those tapes you turned over may prove those two delinquents intended to commit a crime that’s way more serious than truancy.”

Her nephew looked a bit stunned. “But it was fake. It was just a way to get them to leave me alone.”

“Dr. Weaver believed they thought it was a real explosive device, and they intended to use it.”

“I wouldn’t have let them. Nobody was in any real danger. They weren’t smart enough to know there was nothing to blow up. In fact, we just sprang the trap and got that on tape this morning.”

“Bruce that’s probably not going to matter for their case. If they thought it was real and they intended to set it off, they are likely going to be charged with attempting to commit a crime or conspiring to commit a crime.”

“No, listen, Aunt Susan. This morning, we faked a malfunction. I used dry ice to make it look like a meltdown, and they ran away when they thought it was going off. It’s on the tapes. I think they just wanted to scare everyone enough to avoid taking finals, but we never let it get that far.”

Susan shook her head. “Bruce, try and look at it from Vice-Principal Weaver’s perspective. You had different agendas for your ‘Project.’ You wanted the boys to leave you alone, right?”

“Yah, and I thought they would hurt people if we didn’t do something. I was hoping to teach them a lesson, I guess.”

“Okay, it’s not that Dr. Weaver didn’t have those same goals, but he wants to put those boys into detention and possibly expel them from school.”

“Oh, and the officers have different goals, too,” he said, catching onto what she was saying. He stood there next to her with the gears turning in his head. She hated having to do this to him, but Bruce needed to find it out now before something more nefarious happened. He looked at her with a dawning understanding of how he’d been played and used by adults. “I think I feel sick.”

Susan wrapped her arms around her nephew, and he hugged her around her waist. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I know it hurts, but people always have an agenda and the quicker you learn that, the wiser and the better off you’ll be.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me if I just told you, genius or not, you don’t know everything yet?”

“No, probably not.” He shrugged then straightened up. “You were right. We shouldn’t have left you out. _I_ shouldn’t have done that. It’s my fault.” He looked up at her, “I really made a mess of things. What’s going to happen?”

“Bruce you’re not responsible for others’ actions. To be honest, I don’t know what’s going to happen, Bruce. I hope Dr. Weaver doesn’t get into trouble over this, and I hope the boys have learned their lesson. I also hope you haven’t made some serious enemies. At the moment things are out of our hands.”

He hoped Dr. Weaver wouldn’t get into trouble, too. “Why did Dr. Weaver ask General Ross to look at our fake bomb? I can’t reapply to the Science Academy until I’m 12.”

“Well, that’s the ‘sort of’ good news. The General said he would be willing to support it if we reapplied to the Science Academy.”

“Really? We went to a lot of trouble last time, and they didn’t want me.” They’d both felt pretty crushed at the time, but they’d picked themselves up, dusted each other off, and moved on.

“ _Yet_ ,” she emphasized. “The General seems to be ready to push things harder this time.” She brushed the hair back from his face. “I told him we needed to think about it and talk first.”

Bruce nodded, “We’ll probably have to do the paperwork again.”

“And the interview,” she noted. “I’m sure Dr. Weaver will write you a very fine letter of support.”

Bruce smiled, “Maybe I should find a better character reference?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find another person if we need to.”

Then Bruce became very quiet for a moment. “What do you think is the General’s agenda?”

Susan had been wondering about that since the funeral. “I don’t know, Bruce. He might be doing this for altruistic reasons or out of guilt, but I think he might want other things from you at some point. I’m sure there will be strings attached to it somehow.” She smoothed his hair back again. “Remember that, okay?”

“I won’t forget, Aunt Susan.”

“I promise you, I won’t either, Bruce. How about a movie? I think the new Herbie the Love Bug flick is at the dollar theater.”

“I wish the new Star Wars movie was out, but it won’t be till May 20th,” he noted with disappointment.

“Well, why don’t we rewatch the first one? That way you’ll be ready for the new movie.” They relocated to the living room, and Bruce turned on the television and the VCR. “What’s the new one called?” Susan asked as she sat down.

Bruce pulled the tape off the shelf. “ _The Empire Strikes Back_.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s supposed to be the middle of three films, so things are going to get messed up.” The boy put the tape in and pushed “Play.” He sat down with his aunt on the couch. She’d already slipped out of her shoes and rested her feet on the coffee table. Bruce did the same and slouched a little bit, so his feet would reach the table’s edge.

“Do you think it will be like in _The Two Towers_ when all seems lost?” Susan leaned forward and scooted the table closer for him.

“I hope not, but that seems pretty likely.” He frowned in thought as the legal warning and a bumper played through before the feature started. “I’m not sure how they could get worse than Luke losing his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru then his mentor Obi-Wan, but I guess we’ll find out.”

“Yah, he’s had it pretty rough, but I’m sure he’ll find other people to teach him. He still has Leia, Han, and Chewie.”

“And C-3PO and R2-D2, too. I guess it could be a lot worse. We were talking about Joseph Campbell and the Hero’s Journey in class last week, and the teacher pointed out how many adventure stories fit that pattern.”

“Right, a lot of them do.”

“ _Star Wars_ and _The Hobbit_ fit the pattern. Sometimes I think my life is kind of like that. I’ve had bad things happen, but then I came here, and you’ve been like my Obi-Wan Kenobi, Aunt Susan.”

“Aww, come here,” she reached over and hugged him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “I love being Obi-Wan to your Luke, but I’m not going to let a Darth Vader get me yet,” she promised. “Not for a long, long time.”

“Good, because I love you, and I still really need you, Aunt Susan.”

“I love you too, Bruce. You are my best Jedi Apprentice.” She hugged her nephew tighter, and they smiled together, quite content in each other’s company. As the words began to appear on the television and then scroll up the dark screen, they read them together though they knew the whole thing by heart.

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my love note to Susan Banner and all the people who have stepped in to parent and mentor and pick up the pieces when a home and a child get shattered. The women in Bruce's life are clearly important and have been the most positive influences on him. They are the strongest and most loving characters in his life, but we know so little of their stories that I wanted to get this small bit of Susan Banner out there. 
> 
> I really want to know what you think. Please give a kudo and a comment if you want more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments are always welcome. I plan to post at least three more chapters of this series.


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